Free Regina Scott by An Honorable Gentleman Page A

fine room, with dark furnishings that may not have been fashionable but were well made and sturdy. In the tall wardrobe along one paneled wall, he located the bag he had brought with him on the saddle like one of the green-bag travelers who flocked to the mountains to rhapsodize over the scenery.
    His meager belongings could be returned to the bag easily enough. By nightfall, Icarus could reachCarlisle. Another four days easy riding could get Trevor to London. He could stay with friends. A few conversations should put him onto a problem or two that could line his pockets for the quarter.
    Crossing for the bureau to retrieve his spare shirt, he nearly tripped over the statue.
    Trevor pulled up and stared at it. Sitting calmly on the carpet, the little shepherd stared straight ahead, looking for his sheep. Who’d carried it up the stairs? Why put it in his bedchamber?
    Are You trying to tell me something, Lord?
    He recoiled at the thought. Why ask such a question, as if expecting an answer? God didn’t speak to people like him, men of uncertain birth, consigned to the shadows. If his own father couldn’t be bothered to speak to him directly, why would a heavenly Father care?
    For I know the thoughts I think toward you, saith the Lord. Thoughts of peace and not calamity, to give you a future and a hope.
    What an odd mood he was in to remember verses from the few times he’d attended church. Trevor carried the statue to the door and set it carefully along the wall in the corridor outside his bedchamber, where the ancient suits of armor stared down at it. His visit with the Newtons must have dredged up the memory of God’s promise. And as for thoughts of peace, the Lord had to have an odd sense of humor if he saw any future or hope in Blackcliff.
    Trevor returned to the room and eyed the wornleather travel bag, sitting on the down coverlet of the bed. Could something be made from Blackcliff? The mine seemed the most likely possibility. He hadn’t seen this surveyor’s report yet. It might give him some ideas. And he wasn’t the type of gentleman to run away from difficulties.
    He sighed and returned the case to the wardrobe. He’d give Blackcliff a few more days, see what he could learn. With any luck, he could still leave by the end of the week, if not sooner.
    He did not count on Gwen Allbridge giving him reasons to stay.

Chapter Eight
    T he very next day, before Trevor had even finished the excellent breakfast Mrs. Bentley cooked him with ham and coddled eggs and buttery rolls so light he thought they could reach the top of Blackcliff Fell on their own, Gwen Allbridge appeared in the doorway. She was not an unwelcome sight, with her satiny matte-brown coat cinched under her bosom, a smoky veil draping her pale straw bonnet and coppery curls peeking out from under the brim. Trevor smiled a greeting as he swallowed the roll.
    She grinned back. “I thought you might like some company on the walk to services this morning.”
    The roll caught in his throat, and he grabbed the cup of tea beside him and gulped down the warmth. Services? She meant church?
    “How thoughtful of you,” he said, lowering the cup carefully to its pale bone china saucer, tryingto think of a way to answer. “But I would not want to inconvenience you.”
    “It’s no inconvenience,” she promised. “I’m sure everyone will be eager to see the Blackcliff pew filled once more.”
    So he even had his own pew. And, of course, they’d notice if it went empty. As a gentleman, he should escort her. He offered her a polite smile and called for his coat.
    He wasn’t sure what to expect of St. Martin’s at Blackcliff. He’d never found any comfort in church. He’d done his best to sleep through the required services at school. The few times he’d attended St. George’s Hanover Square in London had been more for show than anything else. He’d wanted to prove he had a right to be there. He’d scarcely listened to the readings; he’d been casting